


“One has a right to judge a man by the effect he has over his friends.”

by notjustmom



Series: “Quotation is a serviceable substitute for wit.” [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Minisode: Many Happy Returns, Pre and Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 12:04:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14378274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: a different take on Many Happy Returns...





	“One has a right to judge a man by the effect he has over his friends.”

Sherlock growled at Lestrade, "why am I doing this again?"

"For John. For his birthday. You're making him a birthday message, since you won't be at his birthday party, it's his fortieth, for most people, it's a big one, especially for John, you really should -"

"Of course I won't be at his birthday party. There will be -"

"People. Yes, I know, so get on with it, just do something - smile, or something -"

"Right, smiling - that works sometimes, don't know why, but it makes people think I'm charming -"

"Must not know you very well," Lestrade muttered under his breath.

"What was that, Geoff?"

"Nuthin'."

 

It was one of those rare slow days; no murders, no robberies, not even a single prank call or lost pet. Lestrade yanked open his junk drawer and sighed as he spotted the box he had been meaning to take to John. He picked up the box and looked inside. The pink phone, not the pink phone, but the other one - damn. Those were the days - not exactly the good ol' days, but at least Sherlock was still around, and John - John was, he was never quite sure what their relationship had been, but John had had a purpose, and he had a spring in his step - a cliche, yes, but, it was true. After Sherlock jumped, the limp had returned and John had started drinking, he tried to hide it, but Lestrade knew the signs all too well - damn, the first cut of Sherlock's birthday message for John. John would want it - wouldn't he? Sherlock had hated talking to the press, he did it only when John was able to gently nudge him into it, or had promised him something that Greg was sure he didn't want to know about, so the unedited version that he held in his hand was quite possibly the longest record of Sherlock in front of a camera, even though it was shot under duress, it was classic Sherlock.

 

"So what's your story, Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"What's your excuse for not going to the party?"

"A thing. I have a thing."

"Right. You might want to, I dunno, explain a bit more, elaborate, make it believable?"

"No - only lies..." Sherlock paused for a brief moment, then went on, "... have detail. The less said - I already gave him his present, a paper I wrote, annotated, with photos and everything - had it bound..."

"About?"

"How his friends hate him. Upon reflection, might not have been the best present, socks - socks might have been a better choice, but you can tell how his friends feel about him - alright - " He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he carefully seated himself in the chair. "John. I do apologise that I cannot be there tonight, I am very busy, but know - damn it - what - what do people say?"

"I dunno, something original like 'Happy Birthday'?"

"No, I know I what I can do -"

 

"John. How are you?"

"Fine - good. Good, really. Come on in, get you a drink?"

"Nah, a bit early for me, have to head back to work - thing is, I found a box of Sherlock's things, stuff that somehow ended up in my desk, I put 'em all in a box, and I kept meaning to bring them - " Lestrade looked around John's new flat, he hadn't been inside it before. It was generic, without a shred of personality, as if the person who lived there wasn't planning on being there for long. "John."

"Yeah, thanks, I appreciate it -" John took the small cardboard box from Lestrade and sighed as he picked up the pink phone. "Pink..."

"How are you, really?"

John looked up at him and shrugged. "You know. Fine. I'm fine. I get up each morning, out of bed anyway, I go to work, even on those days I'm not scheduled, we're always short at least one, and there are always people who need something, and then I go check on his Homeless Network, make sure they don't need anything - he would have wanted me to do that. Some nights I actually manage to sleep a couple hours, before the nightmares hit - at least it's not Afghanistan anymore. At least he did that for me." He lifted the disc out of the box and raised a curious eyebrow at Lestrade. 

"You remember the video he made for your birthday?"

"Hard to forget - you know he gave me a paper he wrote, essentially a scientific paper detailing how he could infer how much my closest friends actually hated me, he even wrapped it, he went out and bought wrapping paper and a bow for it. He was so proud - he told me - he told me he went on youtube to learn how to wrap a present properly, as he'd never given anyone a present before. He was ridiculous."

"Listen -" Greg began.

"No, thank you for this, I probably won't watch it - but, thanks for thinking of me. Anything going on, any decent cases?"

"Nope, I keep looking at my phone to be sure it's still working, nothing is happening today. If you ever need anything, you know -"

"Yeah, I know, Greg. I just need time - he - well, you know, he's, he was - "

"Unique."

"A pain in the arse, and I'll never meet another like him. I just miss him, Greg."

"Yeah, I know, mate - why don't we -" Greg cursed silently to himself as his phone went off for the first time all day. "Gotta go - call me, yeah?"

"Yeah, I will." John walked him to the door and nodded as Greg looked up at him just before he got into his car and drove off, sirens blaring, lights flashing even in the middle of the day - what was the point, John wondered, then turned and went back inside.

 

"No, I know what I can do -"

"You can stop being dead." John mumbled at the screen as he poured out a second drink.

"Okay." Sherlock looked up at the camera and continued. "John, you know I'd be there -"

"Bollocks. You hated parties, you hated birthdays even more than you hated parties -"

"if I could, but since I'm a bit busy, and you'll have a much better time - damn. Lestrade!"

"Sherlock. This is for John. Just do it, I can edit later. For John."

"For John. Right. Anything for John. Okay. John, I feel ridiculous doing this, but here goes: Many happy returns, John. Truly, I'll see you very soon -"

John managed to laugh at Sherlock's most brilliant fake smile, the one he used when he wanted someone to trust him, or when he was trying to distract someone as he was picking their pocket. Yes - that was exactly - he was remembering the last time Sherlock swiped Lestrade's badge when there was a knock at his door. He rolled his eyes and hit pause, freezing Sherlock's image, just as the smile was fading, and a look of - what - not quite sadness, overtook the sharp features. He called out, "what? I'm not really in the mood to -" as he opened the door to find Sherlock standing there. At least what was left of his friend tumbled into John's arms.

"How did you -"

"Went to Baker Street first, once I was able to get the skillet out of her hands, Mrs. Hudson told me where you were. I -" John somehow managed to scoop Sherlock into his arms and closed the door with his elbow, as quickly as he could. He carried him to his bedroom and laid him down carefully onto his bed.

"You're -"

"A mess, sorry - I shouldn't have come here. You - you have a girlfriend, you're about to ask her to move in with you, but - she - she won't give up her house to live here, you already know that, but you hate moving, so you're hoping, damn -"

"Damn it, stop talking. I don't suppose you've been to hospital yet? No, of course you haven't, because even - well, even dead, you are an idiot. Are you -?"

"Am I what? John, you know how I feel about incomplete sentences -"

"Are you still dead, or are you, I dunno, back amongst the living?"

"Technically? There is the question of paperwork, which will take even Mycroft some time to -"

"Of course. Mycroft - and - wait, that means -"

"Yes, Molly, without Molly - it wouldn't have worked."

John closed his eyes and pinched his nose, then took a deep breath and looked down to find Sherlock still there, in a ragged heap on his bed. "Stop. Talking. I'm going to get my first aid kit - no, first - you're going to have a bath, after I get you undressed, and then I'm going to patch you up, and if I think you should be in hospital, you will not argue with me -"

"John." Sherlock's voice was small. Almost fragile. And it nearly took John to his knees, in all the time he had known him, yes, it had been only eighteen months, but - he had never seen Sherlock show any sign of weakness, not even on the last day he had seen him - "John?"

"Yeah, I'm here." He nodded and looked into Sherlock's eyes for the first time, and saw something he'd never seen before, uncertainty. "I'm going to take off your shoes, and socks - listen, tell me if I hurt you, I - "

Sherlock nodded and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry -"

"Don't, just don't, let me help you, and then, later - damn it, what did they - never mind, does Mycroft - no, I don't want to know." John sighed as he dropped the battered trainers and socks to the floor, and moved to undo the muddied trousers. He felt Sherlock flinch under his hands and he pulled away. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock shook his head and stared at the ceiling. "It's fine."

"Sherlock."

"Please, John. I can't really -" He lifted his hands to show John his fingers which were badly wrapped in bandages. John drew in a sharp breath and nodded, then gently undid Sherlock's trousers. 

"Do you want me to leave the room? I can run the bath water - give you some time."

"John - I'm just - will you just finish - I'm so tired and -"

"Ribs?"

Sherlock nodded. "I think three are at least bruised if not cracked - hurts like they are cracked - I'm just lucky -"

"Lucky?" John snorted as he eased Sherlock's pants and trousers down Sherlock's legs and off. He cleared his throat then helped him out of the oversized jumper and t shirt, things he wouldn't have been caught dead in two years ago, John thought with a grimace.

"Needs must -" Sherlock groaned as he tried to sit up on his own.

"Idiot, stop." Sherlock laid back down against the pillows and rolled his eyes. "I'm going to run the bath, it's not as nice as the one at Baker Street, but I think both of us can fit."

"John -"

"If I put you in there on your own - your hands - you - sorry. I'll stop talking. Be right back." John headed towards the bathroom, stopping as he heard Sherlock calling him quietly.

"John?"

John turned around and raised an eyebrow at his friend.

"Thank you. You didn't have to -"

"Yeah, I did, Of course I did. You're my - friend, my very best friend, and friends help each other, yeah?"

Sherlock nodded and watched John go into the bathroom, and turn on the water, then return to the room and lean against the wall before he spoke. 

"Did Greg know?"

"Who?"

"Lest -"

"I know - no, he was safer - just as you were, if you didn't know - you're a terrible liar, John."

John crossed his arms and glared at him. "You didn't think - you - do you - know, do you even know what you did to me, to all of us -"

"Us? What us?"

"Me, Mrs. Hudson, Greg - the girl who sells flowers a block over - Angelo -"

"John -"

"The cabbies, though I think they just missed your ridiculous tips, I knew there was some reason you could always get a cab no matter how late it was - you were missed. The church, yes, there was actually a church service for you. Mrs. Hudson. Her idea - she overruled me and Mycroft, she has friends - never mind. Point I'm trying to make is, the church was full, at least five hundred people, all right, yes, some of them weren't your biggest fans, but, six of the Met's finest carried your coffin once the service was over - I'm sure Lestrade made them do it, under penalty of losing rank - there was a memorial on the spot - at Bart's - for a year afterwards, and on the anniversary this year - damn it. Did you think - you -"

"Water - tub?"

"Right." John left the room to turn the taps off, then returned to gather Sherlock into his arms again, apologising quietly as Sherlock hissed at John's touch. "Sorry. God - Sherlock -"

"John."

"I just wish you had trusted me -"

"It was never a question of not trusting you, John. I didn't know if I was going to survive the fall, something could've gone wrong, and then there was no guarantee that I'd make it back - if I didn't, if things went badly, and I - I didn't want you to - I just wanted you to be safe. None of what happened was your fault."

"I could have gone with you -"

"John." John carefully placed Sherlock into the water, then quickly undressed and slid behind him, wrapping his arms around the shivering man in front of him. "Johnnn -"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"I don't deserve -"

"Sherlock. Stop talking. I'm so very happy that you made it home. I might be angry later, but I - you don't understand, do you?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No - I -"

"I love you, you idiot."

"Oh. But -"

"Just stop talking. Just. Stop. Talking."

"John -"

John brushed a kiss over Sherlock's shoulder and Sherlock stopped talking.


End file.
